Scent
by BerryCoffeeCake
Summary: Mikey has a moment in the kitchen with Donnie. Leo's meditation is interrupted. Tcest. If it's not your thing, scroll on.
1. Chapter 1

**Scent**

"It smells so _bad _Donnie! Isn't there anything we can do?", Mikey whines, voice muffled by the hand clamped down over his beak.

The sound of rushing water surrounds them, the after seven tidal flush of all New York's residents gushing through old, leaky, iron pipes.

Donatello shakes his head, glancing over his shoulder at his littlest brother, bouncing from foot to foot…wearing nothing but his frilly kitchens apron and an unhappy expression. Through his workshop door he can see the kitchen where Mikey's culinary discordance has consumed the counters and dinner table. It's an hour after evening training session and Donnie's exhausted, draped over his computer chair like nachos on cheese. A fine sheen of sweat glossing him, belts and pads scattered on the floor around his feet. Splinter had drilled them hard today. How Mikey had energy enough to cook he didn't know.

"It's an unfortunate part of living here Mikey," he says, drooping ever farther. "There's nothing I can do for it I haven't already. Think what it'd be like if we lived farther down. Remember the old tunnel…our first home?"

It's a natural impulse of Donatello's; taking responsibility for the families comfort. And why not? He'd been fixing, building and repairing things in their home for as long as he could remember.

The ruffles on the hem of Mikey's apron tickle his thigh and he looks down at it, peering through fogged over glasses. He reaches up and takes them off, releasing the knock from its hole in the strap, then grabs a rag off the table to clean them with.

"Bleagh!"

Mikey's eyes water at the thought of it. Their old home…the putrid smell of the water filtering in through moldy cracks. He feels bad for complaining, thinking of their quality of life now in comparison to then. He remembers how it used to be. He remembers Donnie and Leo, when they were younger and all slept together, taking the wet, mildewed side of the mattress so he and Raph could sleep comfortably. He remembers his father enlisting their help tearing up rags to use as towels and…yeah. He shouldn't have said anything.

His dramatic response makes Donatello laugh, and smiling he waves Mikey away, back towards the kitchen. It hadn't been his intention to make to make him feel guilty. It was just a thought. A stating of the facts. They lived in a sewer. No matter how much insulation he put up…no matter how help April and Casey gave them…they'd always be surrounded by shit.

"Just stay in there. Focus on how the food smells," he says, chuckling over his unspoken witticism.

Mikey nods, feeling the time crunch in his gut, mollified by Donnie's laughter and gently spoken words. He agreed. It was better for them now than it had ever been. The occasional blast of funk was a small price to pay for their elevated status.

'_It is now anyway.', _Mikey thinks subconsciously, bringing a knife to bear on the pile of yet un-peeled and quartered vegetables. The cucumber goes first and is the most easily stripped….dark green skin falling in thin spirals onto the cutting board.

Michelangelo breathes in, a smile spreading across his freckled face. It smells good. So light and fresh…like…like dew on new spring grass.

He slices it all the way to the end , then pops the rounded tip into his mouth, unable to resist. It was pho for dinner tonight; a sumptuous and fragrant meal. Every bean sprout, every piece of cilantro, carrot and mushroom he adds to the simmering broth is a pleasant additive, filtering away the scent of raw sewage swirling overhead.

'_Focus on how the food smells.',_Donatello had said.

"Good suggestion D…", he murmurs to himself, ladling out soup into their color coded bowls.

A half-hour. Not bad. It hadn't taken him long today at all. It was very possible he'd get something out of Raph other than grumbles and slurping. He might even forget the fight he had with Leo earlier today.

'_Ah food..'_

Donatello walks in first, Leo, Raph and Master not far behind, each voicing his appreciation in his own way. He could see the hunger in their eyes, Donnie's especially. He tended to forget he had a stomach, staying up late working in his lab, loading up on coffee and pep-pills rather than actual food.

He sits down, reaches for his spoon…and just before tucking in…peers over the edge of his bowl at Mikey, cranberry colored eyes crackling. Sparkling with an otherworldly energy.

Mikey's jaw drops. His eyes flutter closed. The light, airy smell of fresh cucumber fills his nostrils, starts his tail to swishing back and forth between his legs.

'_Oh __**god**__ Donnie..'_

"Michelangelo? My son..?"

A blush, dark streaks of purple dot his plump, green cheeks, spreading down to his neck and shoulders. Mikey snaps to attention, withering under his father's intense gaze. He wasn't angry. Hadn't any idea in the slightest what his youngest had just experienced. Splinter spoke as a concerned parent, noting the flush of color and sudden shortness of breath that had come over his son.

"Are you in pain?", Splinter asks.

'_Does tight shell count as pain?',_ Mikey wonders, bending down to pick up his spoon from where it lay on the floor.

"No sensei…", he responds promptly, pausing for a moment to peer at his brothers, long, lean legs stretched out under the table. He rises a spilt second later, cheery smile back in place, dipping into his soup with enthusiasm.

"Just _really_ hungry is all."

-End

((A/N: Hoped you all liked it. Feel free to leave a review!-Berry))


	2. Chapter 2

**Scent 2**

**((A/N: Went through and fixed some errors I saw. Changed some paragraphs and the ending. New Chapter coming soon. Feel free to leave a review guys. I know it's supposed to be bad taste to ask, but if I spend my time writing these the least you can do is send a little feedback. I'm not writing to be validated or liked. I legitimately write because I enjoy it and want to get better. Getting better means getting advice on what you could improve upon. ))**

They slept with each other all the time. _Had _ slept together all the way up until they were ten, the four of them squishing around on a mattress only big enough for two. It wouldn't be odd. Wouldn't be a stretch for Donnie to believe he'd come to him with purely innocent intentions. He'd done it countless time before, tip-toeing down the hall late at night, peering through the darkness at the stream of silvery light pouring out from the crack in Donnie's door.

Squinting in through said crack he spies his older brother clacking away on his keyboard, headphones stretched over top his head. He doesn't hear Mikey come in, but he feels him, a sense picked up from years of living in such close quarters. It was like that with all his brothers. He could identify them by step, by the way they breathed.

And the way they smelled.

Donnie glances over his shoulder, greeted with the rough, slowly retreating surface of Mikey's carapace as he makes his way across the room to the bed, sliding himself backward against the wall, legs dangling over the edge. Donnie can't hear, but he's almost certain from the way his brother is kicking his legs and nodding that he's humming some song.

They lock eyes and Mikey puts on his best 'Poor Waif' look, drooping his shoulders in an attempt to look as small and forlorn as possible. Donnie didn't look in the mood for company. But maybe he could convince him to be if he came up with a good enough lie. He didn't want to leave. It smelled too good in here. The perfume that was Donatello's scent covered everything. There was no room anything else. Not the sickly smoke rising from his chem lab…the odious stench wafting over from Timothy's container…nothing. Mikey couldn't smell it. Was unable to be repulsed by it.

'_I'll tell 'im I had a nightmare. That'll work.',_ Mikey thinks, sifting through scenarios in his mind of what he'd do and say when finally his brother came to him. He imagines Donnie holding him…the two of them wrapped around each other under the blankets—their guard against the _waste _swirling overhead. It's a sappy, stupidly romantic image. But then, Mikey was a sappy, stupidly romantic person.

As Donnie rises from his chair, doffing his headphones and glasses he ruminates on the intimacy of his thoughts and this otherwise completely innocent moment with his younger brother. Salted caramel. He'd been smelling it all day and up until dinner time had attributed it to the several cups of coffee he'd had, flavored with fancy store bought creams. Pho had no trace elements of any of the things in the cream he used. And he'd brushed his teeth four times that day on the off chance April came over for a visit.

Thunder. Rain. They couldn't see it down where they lived, but they could always hear it. Could tell when it was getting close from the rising of the water in the tunnels. It was early spring. The beginning of April.

Donnie blanches as he crawls into bed, that sweet salty smell hitting him full on in the face. How could it have taken him this long to realize? The continuous rushing of water and knocking of pipes—the sticky, humid air and awful smells. Well…awful save for the thing sitting in front of him. How could he not have guessed it? He was in heat. And so was Mikey. Raph and Leo likely were too; evidenced by how aggressive they'd been in training lately.

Spared the need of initiating the contact he craves, Mikey wounds his arms around his elder brothers neck. Plan of action out the window…all rational thought erased…he pulls him down onto the bed with him, clamping his mouth down on the underside of Donnie's chin, sucking the tender flesh into his his part, Donnie says nothing. Does nothing. Just closes his eyes and allows him-self to pawed. The lights are off with a snap of his fingers, the blankets pulled up not long after.

'_He smells so good.'_, Is the general consensus of the two, moving up and down each-others bodies with tongue and teeth, silencing too loud moans with fervent kisses. Donatello's momentary hesitation nearly stills Mikey. Makes him pause and look up at him briefly in question. He didn't know. Hadn't thought about it at all. None of them had, other than Donnie, the sole source of information in the house besides their father.

Mikey didn't know about the taboo regarding what they were doing. Brothers weren't supposed to kiss each other. Weren't supposed to want one another the way they wanted each other in this instance. But then…most brothers weren't mutant turtles. That was how Donnie rationalized it. How he made it right. They were different. Human commonality, law...those things don't really apply to them.

"It's complicated Mikey", he rasps, face hot, tiny beads of sweat dotting his forehead, lips shining with moisture from the parted, dripping slit in his brothers tail, cock head only just visible.

Lowering his head before continuing Donnie gives it another long, leisurely lick. Tasting it; blushing so his cheeks nearly glow in the dark.

"Donnie please…I don't care! Just keep doing that!"

Mikey circles his hands over the back of Donnie's neck, pulling, so struck by the feel of his tongue darting out for him again he unsheathes, cock springing forward. Streaking Donatello's cheek with pre-cum. Damn whatever nonsense Donnie had to say. He didn't have the patience, and at this stage, Donnie didn't have a whole lot left either. Giving his lips a cursory moistening with his tongue, he opens his mouth wide, wraps a hand around the base and slides Mikey's purple, pointed prick over his tongue. Guides himself down the thick, veined length till' he can take no more.

He sucks hard, cheeks tenting, hands spreading out to grip Mikey at the hips, holding him in place. Keeping him from clamping his thighs down around his head. The slurps…the slap of skin on skin, and the delicious aroma of sex trapped in the pocket of air around them drive Donnie to distraction and it isn't long before he's rolling his hips down into the mattress into his own sticky mess, riding out his orgasm. Moaning around Mikey's twitching cock.

The owner of said piece is not far behind, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out too loudly. Mikey thinks to pull back, not wanting to choke Donnie, but he's held fast.

…And more surprised than is polite to say when Donatello rises, and flops next to him, spent, cum smeared on the side of his face.

"Wow.."

"Wow what?"

"You've done this before haven't you?..", Mikey asks, blinking through the dark, a curious look on his face. He hadn't expected to get anything more than just a few kisses and a little petting. And then..blow job. Not that he hadn't enjoyed it. It was just the last thing he'd expected. When had Donnie had time to pick up that particular skill?

Donnie doesn't answer him. He just lays there, blinking lazily at him, lips pursed. Wondering why after all that, he was still talking. Reaching down and grabbing the skewed sheet and coverlet he adjusts it, covers them both. Then wraps his arms around Mikey, burrowing his face into the crook of his neck. He didn't have any big secret he was keeping. No lover waiting in the wings. He'd just...acted on instinct. Moved the way it seemed like he supposed to. There was no thought in it. No planning.

"G'night Mikey", he whispers, nuzzling him.

_'Instinct...scent. Maybe I could apply some of this of to my training..'_

-End


	3. Chapter 3

**Scent Pt. 3**

Cardamom. Jasmine. Neroli.

Dragon's blood…

Thin trails of sweet smelling smoke curl overhead, stream up and out into the hall, ash white finger's curling over the door ledge. Leo sits in repose in the center of his room, staring stone faced in the direction of his emblazoned altar—his center for meditation. Candles are scattered throughout the room, ranging in size from tapered bishop's candle to thick, malformed rounds, wax dripping down the makeshift sconces onto smooth lacquer of the table.

Never in his life had he ever been this wound up. This nervous and jumpy. For weeks now it had been like this. The pressure rising in him, and no amount of training or private speculation locked away in his bedroom seemed to help. His performance in combat was suffering. At least in his view. He'd lost focus. Lost the ability to concentrate on the simplest of tasks. Everything was so much more difficult than it used to be, and he couldn't understand why he was suddenly failing at everything.

'A spiritual problem', Sensei had said it was. Something he needed to work out within himself. Some unconscious queue he wasn't picking up on due to the flow of his 'chi' being out of balance. His father's unnecessarily crypt-ed way of saying he had no answers for him.

He couldn't hit a bull's eye with a shuriken. Couldn't execute his kata the way he wanted to or watch his movies in the evening. Anything he tried to do that took any amount of concentration he physically and mentally shrank from in favor of less calculable activities.

Namely, bickering with Raph over anything and everything.

Raph lives up to his nickname, firing back at him as expected when he felt Leo had crossed his boundaries in training or said one word too much in jest. He didn't like being made sport of. By anyone. Least of all Leo, his elder brother who seemed to find some sick satisfaction in it.

Down the hall and around the corner in the open space of the living room Raph punches away at his heavy-bag. Left, right, hook, elbow, knee—then back through it all again, picking up speed at intervals. Each succession of strikes beats it's own rhythm, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. It's comforting to him. Relaxing, and gradually, Raph unclench-es himself, finds equilibrium. He doesn't have the issues Leo has. His relaxation methods are uncomplicated and typical of him.

He's...much.._much_ calmer as of late. Slower to anger, though no less tempered in his response once the fire's been lit. His fight's with Leo have been very tame the last few weeks in comparison to others, and Raph equates it to his getting older. Maturing. The tension he feels-that they _both _feel facing each other in practice is there. Lingering long after the fight is done and a victor declared. It's the only feeling Raph isn't able to displace or make sense of. Nor does he particularly want to. He's never been the deep, introspective kind. That was Leo's deal.

Hence why the whole lair was stunk up with his perfum-y incense.

Cardamom. Jasmine. Neroli. Dragon's Blood. A select few of their father's extensive collection of scents, and herbal infusion's imbued with spiritual properties. Leo chose without conscience, going from casing to casing lifting a stick to his nose. He chose the one's that smelled best to him, the most relaxing, rather than by the principals for which they were supposed to stand, and, unwittingly, ended up picking three of the most sexually stimulating scents of the bunch. Hence, his inability to calm himself down with the traditional methods. It's all tied up in his lack of spiritual one-ness Leo thinks though, not as physically in tune with himself as his younger brother, who picks up on all the unconscious queues Leo sends him right away.

Never before had Leo been this easy to bait. This easy to pull into mischief and as Raph thinks on it, working double-time over his bag, a pale purple blush ignites, spreading from cheek to rounded green cheek. How long would it last? How long would Leo be willing to be as close to him as he had been the last few weeks?

Why did he _want _to be close to him all of a sudden? Leo was an asshole. A stuck up, preening little asshole. A teacher's pet—always sucking up to their Sensei. Practicing for long hours on his own in the dojo under the pretense he was doing it all for _them_. His brothers. Leo-frickin'-nardo—the sacrificial lamb of the Hamato Clan!

Yeah. Bullshit.

Who practices split kicks for six hours? Why was it necessary to do a whole bunch of acrobatics just to _throw_ something? Who did Leo think he was? Superman?

Frowning, Raph grab's hold of the swinging bag with both hands, steadying it, and sighs, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of Leo's room. The door is cracked, just enough for him to be able to see the candles Leo has lined up on the edge of his altar. And gracefully made legs stretched out in front of him, out of the customary pose for meditation.

_'Get up,' _Raph says to him silently. _'Come in here. Come and see me.'_

And of course, he never moves, save a little shifting of his protruding limbs. This upsets Raph. Much more than he knows it should. It was insane. Completely unreasonable of him to expect Leo to be able to hear his thoughts. But that doesn't matter. It's something he can use. An excuse to enter into the domain of his brother, the blood offering.

Turning, wiping the sweat from his brow, Raph strides down the hall, stretching his short, thick legs much farther than necessary, pea-cocking without even realizing it. He pulls open the door the rest of the day, peering down at his elder brother with a scathing expression.

"Hey! Didn't you _hear me_?", he snaps, putting a little more venom behind his voice than he intends. "I was calling you!"

"For what?", Leo ask's, raising an eye ridge, more annoyed than intimidated by the heat of Raph's tone. "Can it wait? I'm meditating."

"You ain't doin' nothin' Leo! Get up and come to the dojo with me. I wanna spar."

"No."

"Whaddya mean _no_?"

"Just what I said! _No. _I'm meditating. I'll spar with you later."

"Not later—_now_!", Raph demands, stepping into the room, balling his fists. "You're just gonna sit in here breathin' in fruity smoke all night. You can do that any time!"

"I can spar anytime I want too! What do you want?! Why are pushing this so hard?! I said I would _later_. Why can't you just accept that?!"

'_Why can't I just accept that?', _Raph wonder's as he drops to his knee's next to Leo and scrambles quickly forward, gripping him by the wrist's and forcing his arms up above his head, using his weight to pin him down. Leo, of course, fights him, wriggling, twisting and turning to try to get him off, lifting his legs try to wrap them around Raph's neck.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Get off me!", Leo yells, right in his face, smacking his forehead full force into his, head-butting. This gets Raph to let go, and Leo scrambles out from underneath him, knocking over a candle and burning his ankle in his haste to ward off Raph's next advance.

"Fuck! OW! Raph—I've got stuff lit on fire in here everywhere!"

Leo put's his hands up, cupping one over Raph's fist and the other over his forearm, redirecting the strike away from his face. And then answering with one of his own, much more vicious ones. What was wrong with Raph all of a sudden? Why was he doing this? It couldn't be that he was possessed by anything. His speech was all too clear. All too like himself for it to be another brain-switching episode.

Turning, Leo hikes up a leg and kicks into the back of Raph's knee, sending him splay-legged down to the floor, face smacking into Leo's book case. Moving back a few feet, Leo makes ready for him. But Raph doesn't rise. Not immediately. He lays there, on his stomach, head turned away from Leo, fist's clenched.

_'Why're you pushing this so hard?! I said I would later. Why can't you just accept that?', _comes the question again, and this time Raph has an answer for it, though he never speaks it allowed.

He's not like Leo. He's not graceful or very well-spoken. He say's exactly what he means when he says it. Withholding nothing. Sparing no feelings. His reasoning for his action's however, weren't as easy a part of him to define as his patterns of speech. Raph was fighting Leo not because of his refusing to spar..but because he felt he was rejecting him. Saying that he didn't want to be close to him. He couldn't accept Leo's refusal, or, in his mind, rejection, because...well...what if _later _never came?

Sitting up, finally, after what seems an inordinate amount of time, Raph looks up, cheeks purpling prettily. Golden eyes flashing dangerously in contrast. Cardamom...Jasmine..Neroli.

Dragon's Blood.

That was the one. The one out of the four Raph liked most. It was a clean, very subtle scent. Clean and subtle—two words that described his older brother perfectly. He was the stealthiest out of all of them. The quietest...the lightest on his feet. You could barely even hear him breathing...see the rise and fall of his chest despite the tussle they'd just had.

"Leo...I want you to stop meditating. And.."

"And what?"

"…...Be close to me."

Leo drops his guard, stands upright, and peers down at Raph with the most curious of expressions, brow drawn together, lips parted in a little 'o' of confusion. Be close to him? That was all he wanted?

Kneeling, Leo drops down in front of Raph, close. Close enough that oh so elusive breath of his can be heard. That the air so slowly ballooning in and out of his lungs could be seen expanding underneath the chest. What compels him to do it he isn't sure. Maybe it's the look on Raph's face...the way his eye's glitter, or the tremble of his lips as he draws near. Dropping down on both knee's, he cups Raph's face in his hands, and kisses him.

_'Is this what you mean?',_Leo asks him silently, pulling him forward, sliding his tongue past his brother's pliant, hungry lips. _'Is this close enough?'_

Sometimes...you don't know you need something until it's given to you. And that's the way it is with Leo and Raph in this moment, kissing each other softly, tongues gliding over each other wetly, smoothly. It occurs to neither of them that this closeness they seek is to the outside world, a taboo. It was the way it had always been with them.

In times of grief at least. In all the world they were all there was. The only walking, talking turtles, and their anatomy, no matter how much they might wish for it to, would never be able to sync up with that of a human's. At least not in a pleasing way.

Snaking his thick arms around Leo's neck, he pulls him forward, sucking that teasing tongue of his into his mouth, a hint of the tea he'd drunk hours ago on his breath. Back they fall, plastron to plastron to the floor, a tangle of limbs. Leo's lips part from Raph's with a wet, audible pop, and move on to other venues. Clamping down on the skin of Raph's neck, nibbling, licking, _biting_. Hard enough to cut. To leave behind bloody, indentation's of teeth he pauses to look at, and press his beak to before going on, pleasured by the mark he leaves. By Raph's hips slowly rocking up into his, and their tails brushing together, spotted with moisture.

It's easy for Raph to be compliant here. To say to say yes to Leo. Be guided by him. It's not like their team practice sessions. Not like being out on patrol alone with him, pushing his short legs to keep up over the rooftops, resentful of his brother's sleeker, much more nimble body. Leo leads, and he lets him, at least for a while, watching with mild fascination as he sits back up over top him and begins unwrapping the red sports tape from his hands. Then with a look of pure and utter rapture, as one by one, Leo licks and suck's over his fingers, lingering on the thumb. With his yet to be captured hand Raph reaches up and cup's Leo's rear, giving it a squeeze and smirks, feeling his brother's tail slap hard against his inner thigh.

The moan he get's out of him, breathy and shallow—the vibration of it- shoots down the finger in Leo's mouth straight to his to dripping, swollen tail. Giving him all the encouragement he needs to continue. Sliding his hand down further, grasping the struggling appendage between his brother's legs and giving it a few cursory strokes before moving on. Down, all the way to his puckered entrance, pushing his tail up and out of the way.

Raph has to sit up, pull his hand from Leo's mouth and wrap said arm around his middle to keep him close and position. Leo doesn't stop him, doesn't protest. Just stares down at him, with that same curious expression from before. Lips coming together to form that little 'o'.

"What're you doing?", he asks, pushing his hips back into that probing hand. Leo's not too terribly concerned with reasoning. He asks out of habit. Years of always having to be responsible one. 'The Planner'.

"I wanna see what face you make when ya come.", Raph answers, lips pressed to Leo's ear. And then slowly, gently, pushes a finger into Leo, swirling the tip as he goes, stretching him. He takes it all the way down to the knuckle, biting his lip when he feels Leo's inner muscle's tighten around him and his legs clamp down over his own.

Drawing out at the same, slow pace he looks up, taking in the fluttering lids and hanging mouth that is his brother in ecstasy. He feels the shudder that peels it's way up his back, and encouraged, contintues, using one hand to hold Leo apart, and the other to work it's way in out and of him, pushing a little farther each time. The candles lit throughout the room, coupled with their efforts to pleasure each other raises the temperature exponentially. And soon they're both sweating, Leo rocking back and forth over Raph's hand—groaning when he feels a second finger slide in against the other.

Leo is...loud. Louder than Raph expects him to be and he loves it. Loves the earthy candor of his voice in his ear. Loves the wandering hands that eventually work their way in between them to grasp his tail, pumping a way in time to his thrusting fingers.

Cardamom, Jasmine, Neroli.

Dragon's Blood. The perfect name for the perfect scent.

Leo comes..._hard. _Not having unsheathed prior, the mess balloons forth from the slit of his tail instead, spattering Raph's working hand and the caps of his knees. His whole body tenses, coiling tight as a spring, face scrunched in almost comical fashion.

_'So that's it', _Raph thinks, looking up into that face, eyes half-lidded and lips pressed into a tight line. Beak twisted.

_'That's what you look like…'_

And then he's right there with him, tail exploding in Leo's palm, dripping down his wrist and onto his thigh. He's as loud in his release as Leo has been since the start, and once done, flops back onto the floor where he'd been originally, pulling a squirmy, sweaty, panting Leo with him. He keeps the two finger's buried inside of him, strokes Leo's ass cheek with his thumb and laughs when he feels him twitch.

"Next time...", Leo says, shoving his flushed, purple face into the hollow of Raph's neck, "Next time it'll be me that does the fingering."

"_Next time_?", Raph asks, nuzzling the top of Leo's head, a look of surprise on his face. "You want there to be a next time?.."

"Don't _you_?"

"Yeah...yeah I do."

"It's settled then. Next time you wanna get _close_...just tell me rather than tackle me. Okay?"

"Okay."

And with that, their season starts. Spring, on into indian summer, they spend together. Retreating to the privacy of Leo's room or shadowed corner in a tunnel away from home. Donnie and Mikey pick up on the queues they give each other...the furtive glances and touching under the table. How could they not? They'd been slinking around in much the same manner, Mikey sneaking into Don's room every night to snuggle under the cover's with him and breath his garden fresh savor. Donnie enjoying equally the salty sweet aroma of his little brother's pale green skin.

Scent. The most underrated of all the senses. You appreciate it so much more living in the sewer's, when finally, something good wafts in on the breeze.

**-End**

((A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed that! Feel free to leave a review.))


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